


Que Sirrah

by ladyprydian



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Cat, Kittens, M/M, Meet-Cute, cat giving birth to kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4244421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyprydian/pseuds/ladyprydian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’re neighbors who don’t really talk but your cat might have gotten my cat pregnant?? We must raise this little kitty family together” AU<br/>-  <a href="http://ironinkpen.tumblr.com/">ironinkpen</a> <a href="http://ironinkpen.tumblr.com/post/111911630017/please-consider">link to the prompt</a></p><p>Note: Please do not redistribute my fanfiction on other archives or sites without my express permission. Thank you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Que Sirrah

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt in the summary above. 
> 
> If you’re wondering about pronunciation I’ve been pronouncing Arthur’s cat’s name as Cyr-rah (or Sera, hence the title) in my head
> 
> Betaed by [involuntaryorange](http://archiveofourown.org/users/involuntaryorange/pseuds/involuntaryorange). Thank you for not killing me for my shoddy punctuation.
> 
> Some photo references:  
> [Tupac](http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Black_cat_statuesque.jpg)  
> [Sirrah](http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Longhair_Tabby_JaJa.jpg)  
> [Tremello](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitten#/media/File:Kitten_and_partial_reflection_in_mirror.jpg)

Arthur loves Sirrah.

As pedigree goes, Sirrah was no more than your standard tabby cat. But her markings were lovely; she had a gentle rolling purr, bright green eyes, and a sweet sounding, trilling meow. She cuddled without being clingy, never bit and only used her claws as a reminder of the damages she could do if pushed too far.

She was his sweet baby girl, so when he noticed she was looking lethargic; he phoned the vet’s office.

“Sure,” said Ariadne, one of the vet techs at Proclus Veterinary Hospital, “can you bring her in for 3 this afternoon? We have an open slot to see Doctor Yusuf then.”

“Three is fine,” Arthur replied. He hung up the phone then plucked Sirrah up from the sofa cushion beside him. Immediately she snuggled into his embrace and fell asleep, while Arthur ran through her most recent behaviour in his head. She was eating fine and there was no change to the leavings in her litter tray. She might have been drinking a bit more than normal but her personality hadn’t changed. She was still her sweet self; she just wasn’t rushing to greet him at the door when he came home from work and she was sleeping more. A lot more. It was also hard to get her to play. She was happy to watch the “red dot” when he tried to engage her with the laser pointer, but she didn’t stalk it the way she used to.

No, this change had him worried.

\---

“Pregnant?!” Arthur exclaimed when Yusuf told him his findings.

“Yep! Feel right there, see how much harder it is?” Yusuf said taking Arthur’s limp hand and pressing it against Sirrah’s tummy. “That’s her uterus. She’s definitely pregnant. She’s already few weeks on. I suggest you switch her over to a kitten food for the rest of her pregnancy and while she is nursing. It has a higher caloric content, including fats and proteins, which she needs to keep both her and the babies healthy.” He paused to scribble something in her file. “I could have sworn you told me she was fixed when you got her.”

“That’s what they told me at the shelter,” Arthur said weakly. “That she was already spayed.”

“I guess there was a mix-up,” Yusuf said with a smile. “Well, she’s fit as a flea otherwise. Let Ariadne know and she’ll get you some literature about what to do when she goes into labour.” He took his gloves off with a snap and paused to fondle Sirrah’s head before leaving. “Any ideas who the daddy might be?”

Arthur frowned. There was only one other person in the building with a cat: his neighbor, Eames. Eames also let his cat out often and, thinking back a bit, Sirrah got out on Arthur one day a few weeks ago.

“I have my suspicions,” Arthur said darkly.

\---

The day was a hot one, sunny and bright, so Eames was out on his patio in the sun in just a pair of cargo shorts. Tupac, his black tom cat with yellow eyes, was passed out in the sun beside him. Every now and then Tupac would stretch, bending his back into an inverted ‘C’ and pushing both hind and forelegs straight, claws exposed, before rolling over to, in Eames’s opinion, “toast” the other side.

Every now and then, Eames would drop his book into his lap and reach down from his lounger to stroke Tupac’s short, soft fur. He was contemplating a nap when there was a series of rapid bangs on his door.

He got up and approached the door, shouting “Hold on a sec!” when another flurry of knocking rang out. “Arthur!” he exclaimed in wonder when he opened the door. “This is a nice surprise!”

Ever since he moved into the building, Eames had been friendly towards Arthur. Okay maybe that’s not entirely accurate, _overly friendly_ is probably more precise. Eames is gregarious by nature and this attitude spills out even more around people like Arthur. Quiet people like Arthur, who like their privacy and it isn’t in their nature to babble about anything and everything in the elevator. Such as the time Eames was working with oil based paints and got high on the fumes.

Arthur had given him quite the odd look after that one. A look that signified that maybe, the paint fumes had done a more damage than just give him a monster headache that made him throw up on himself.

Arthur’s response to his ‘share everything’ attitude and frankly ridiculous come-ons – yes he is man enough to admit that a good number of his come-ons are subpar at best - was best described as _frosty_. Short one word replies, or clipped condescending responses.

The dry wit behind them drove Eames wild.

The thing is; Arthur had him at a disadvantage before Eames even knew there was an advantage to be had. Arthur pushed every one of Eames’s kinks – and probably a few Eames developed because of Arthur.

He and Arthur were the same height but where he was broad across the shoulders and chest, Arthur was whipcord thin. Eames didn’t believe for one moment that he was stronger, skinny boys like Arthur had a dangerous habit of being wicked strong.

Then there was the fact that Eames has a glaring kink for a good looking bloke in an even nicer suit. Arthur had this in spades. Every morning he got up early so he could be on his balcony just in time to watch Arthur leave the building to catch the train to work. Always in a lovely, tailored suit with a reusable coffee cup in hand.

Eames could still remember the exact trouser (charcoal gray), oxford shirt (white) with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, and sleeveless jumper (merlot) with the matching tie (burgundy with a light gray stripe) that Arthur was wearing the day the met. The day he was moving in and his boxes were all over the foyer causing Arthur to huff in annoyance because he couldn’t get to his mail box. He then rolled his eyes when Eames shouted across the space for Arthur to hold the elevator while he shoved some boxes in.

He didn’t miss Arthur surreptitiously wiping his hand on his trousers after Eames, shirtless and sweating like a pig, had introduced himself and offered a hand for Arthur to shake.

And yeah, he was a little loud with the music those first few days, maybe just to see if Arthur would bang on his door in his pyjamas – success by the way. What he didn’t realize was how much of a turn on Arthur’s bare feet and glasses would be. They haunted Eames’s dreams – okay masturbatory fantasies - for the next month.

Eames knew his own nature was working against him when it came to Arthur. He couldn’t help but touch him whenever he was near. Something that Arthur clearly hated as he stiffened up and jerked away every time Eames rested a hand on his shoulder, or touched his wrist.

\---

“Your cat got mine pregnant,” Arthur said sharply, not seeing any reason to be cordial. Rather he wanted to get straight to the point. Mind, his brain stuttered a bit as he took in Eames muscled, tattooed torso. There were more tattoos now, more than the first time he saw Eames. Arthur felt his mouth water a little bit. He shook his head as if to clear it. “I just spent 25 dollars on a new bag of cat food —kitten food, actually — and another 75 on a vet visit because your cat knocked up my Sirrah.”

“Is that your moggy’s name?” Eames asked with a wide grin. He turned to the black cat sunning itself on the patio and said, “Tupac you naughty boy, bangin’ the local girls. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Tupac said nothing, as he hadn’t bothered to come in off the patio and away from the sun patch.

Arthur, striving for professionalism in front of Eames’ distracting _dishabille_ , frowned. “This is serious, Mr. Eames—”

“Just Eames, darling. Mr. Eames is my father.”

“—my cat is pregnant, and in a few weeks she’s going to have kittens. You’d better start offering some suggestions on what to do before you end up with all of them in a box on your doorstep.”

“Oh Arthur, don’t be so heartless and cruel. And for God’s sake stop loitering in the hallway and come in and let Sirrah out of her carrier.”

“I am not letting my cat anywhere near your mongrel beast,” Arthur said, nonetheless stepping inside Eames apartment. He put the carrier and the bag of organic kitten food down on the floor but didn’t open the carrier door.

“Tupac can’t get her pregnant again, darling. I’m sure she hates being in there, just let her out. Besides, how do you know it was Tupac?”

Arthur sighed. Yes. He was being irrational and Sirrah did hate being confined to her carrier. He bent over and unlatched the door so she could step out. He might have wiggled his butt a bit. Just because the trousers he was wearing were so tailored that bending was… well he knew how his ass looked in his trousers and if Eames was going to flaunt his chest like that, all muscled and tattooed and _ungh_ , then he was going to pay him back by… _”stop it, stop it now,”_ Arthur chastised his own treacherous brain. _”you’re acting like an idiot”_.

“He’s the only other cat in the building. Sirrah got out into the hallway on me a few weeks ago and she didn’t get downstairs. I know for a fact you let your cat out because I see him from time to time. Ergo, your cat got mine pregnant.”

“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing,” Eames said. At first Arthur wasn’t sure what Eames was talking about as Sirrah stepped out of the carrier and gave herself a little shake, but his butt was still in the air and Arthur _knew_ Eames was looking at it. Eames crouched down and held out his hand for Sirrah to sniff. She did then butted her head against his palm. “I can see what Tupac saw in you, sweetheart. You’re gorgeous, just like your owner who’s having a bit of a tizz over you getting up the spout.”

“Eames,” Arthur sighed, and picked Sirrah up. She went willingly and snuggled into the hollow of his neck. Eames stepped closer into Arthur’s personal space so he could continue petting Sirrah. Arthur could feel his body heat and smell the light sandalwood of his aftershave. He could also see that Eames’s facial hair was a lot more golden up close.

“Our babies will be so adorable. I’m going to have to ask for joint custody and visitation rights to them,” Eames said with a shit eating grin, laughter dancing in his eyes.

“You know I’m a lawyer right?” Arthur asked with a scowl. “I could take you to town over custody and visitation rights.”

“And I’m just a photographer and artist. You know I have no money for your fancy lawyer fees. How about this, though. When the kittens are old enough I’ll take glamour shots of them and have a poster printed up. We’ll bring them to the vet clinics and put the photos up on ebay. We’ll have them in good homes in no time.”

“As for you, my little tart,” Eames continued, rubbing Sirrah under the chin. “You make sure you look less like a slut. You know the boys can’t look at you without getting an explosive boner and coming in their pants.”

“Cats don’t wear pants,” Arthur said sharply.

“Oh Arthur, there you go again with too little imagination,” Eames sighed. “I also suspect that we are talking about two different sets of pants. I mean the pants under your trousers, while I’m sure you mean trousers that you put over your pants.”

“Besides, I have no idea where to start with that sentence,” Arthur said ignoring Eames’s jibe about imagination and the, frankly, odd sentence about trousers and pants. He didn’t know if he should be more irked about the sexual slur about his cat, pissed that Eames essentially said that his cat (i.e.: women) were “responsible” for provoking Eames’s cat’s (i.e.: men’s) sexual responses, or impressed that Eames called out all boys on not being able to see a girls legs without having the need to assault her.

“Phrrow,” meowed Tupac.

Arthur tucked Sirrah closer to him and turned away a bit while she trilled a short response. 

Eames laughed at Arthur’s reaction. “Arthur, Tupac. Tupac, this is Arthur. I assume you know Sirrah. Intimately. And as for you, boy-o. We’re making an appointment for you to lose your balls. I only need to be a Granddad once, thanks.”

Arthur huffed and collected the cat carrier and bag of food before leaving for his own apartment.

\---

A week later Eames knocked on Arthur’s door.

“How’s our wayward daughter?” he asked as a hello.

“My cat, Eames, is resting,” Arthur said. Sirrah was curled up in her cat bed in a patch of sun in front of the patio door. Her belly was starting to swell and she looked vaguely uncomfortable.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Eames said, going over to her and sitting on the floor so he could rub one hand down her back. “Is daddy being good to you? Rubbing your sore back and swollen ankles? Obliging you with your food cravings? Should I bring Tupac over to take care of your lustful urges?”

“Eames,” Arthur sighed in exasperation as he sat on the sofa.

“Oh, Arthur,” Eames said, sighing dramatically himself and sniffing back pretend tears. He walked over to Arthur, threw himself down on the sofa beside him and pulled Arthur into his arms. “Our baby girl is all grown up and having babies of her own! I’m too young to be a Granddad!”

Arthur rolled his eyes at the ‘our’ in Eames’s sentence. “Is there a reason you came, Eames?” Arthur said, shoving a bit to extract himself from Eames’ bear hug. Even if it did feel, well, nice. It had been a while since Arthur was the recipient of a strong hug. The last was Mal, she gave the best hugs and... Arthur quashed that thought quickly and took a deep breath. Man, did Eames’s aftershave ever smell good. 

“Yes, there is a reason. I have a few people interested in a kitten, once they’re old enough. A friend of mine — well patron is more like it —said he might be interested. Hikaru Saito, who owns the West Winds Gallery over on 5th and Stafford Street? Very much a cat man, Mr. Saito. I’m sure one of our kittens will do him just fine.”

“Another interested party is Robert Fisher,” Eames continued. “You know, of Fisher-Morrow?” Arthur nodded. He did indeed know Fisher-Morrow, though he was surprised Eames did. Fisher-Morrow was a big corporate law firm. Arthur had worked for them for a while before realizing that corporate law was not his forte and took an offer to work as the legal advisor at M&C Architecture.

“I heard Fisher Sr. just died. Not sudden, as he’d been ill for a while, but still a blow to the company. I assume Robert is getting partnership?” Arthur asked.

Eames shrugged, “I can’t answer that question, love. Robert’s just a friend and another person who likes my paintings. I’ve got a commission going for him right now. Actually, you should come over and see it. But anyway, before I get too distracted, yes. His dad just died and Robert’s feeling a bit lonely in the penthouse all on his own. I told him I knew of a litter of kittens coming and he seemed interested.”

“Well, that’s five people then, because Yusuf and Ariadne, my vet and one of the techs in the office, both expressed interest. So did my friend Cobb. His kids have been begging him for a pet.”

“Good. I feel better knowing that the kittens will be going to people we know, who won’t turn around and send them to the pound or hurt them. Now, how about you come over and take a look-see at the painting I’m doing for Robert, hmm?”

\---

The Wednesday of the following week, Arthur slowly made his way up the stairs. He was exhausted; Dom was in the process of a complicated bid to be the architect for a new building along the waterfront, and he had kept Arthur running with his demands for construction permits and other legal matters.

Arthur had a bag of Thai food in his hand, a meager dinner of pad thai and pad kee mao that he figured he might as well pick up tonight as he would have less time to do so tomorrow.

“Hello darling,” came Eames voice, startling him and causing him to drop his keys, which were precarious in his hand in the first place due to his take-away bag and computer bag. “Let me get that for you,” Eames said, ducking down and swiftly picking up Arthur’s keys. In no time he had the door open. “What brings you home so late?”

“Work,” Arthur sighed, dropping his computer bag by the door and toeing off his shoes. He never toed off his shoes; they were Zegnas and he wasn’t about to scuff the backs or toes out of laziness. But sometimes, needs must.

As he straightened, he looked at Eames. Eames in his t-shirt and jeans. Eames in his paint-spattered t-shirt and ripped jeans. And not those ripped jeans you get in the stores. No, these were an old pair that had ripped in the right places after years and years of abuse. He had yellow paint on his forearms and a smattering of blue over his chest. There was a daub of green right under his chin the exact size of a thumbprint and, lo and behold, the same shade was on Eames left hand.

“No rest for the wicked, eh?” Eames said with a soft smile. “How’s our girl?”

“She’s doing well, thank you,” Arthur said primly as he brought the bag of Thai food to the kitchen. Then, in what he would later call a fit of madness, he asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

Eames’ smile grew. “I could eat. Gimme 5 minutes to put some things away. I’ll be right back.”

Arthur left the bag on the counter. He’d reheat everything in a moment; right now he needed out of his suit and he needed a cuddle from Sirrah. Sockless and in his pyjama pants and a soft t-shirt, he padded back to the living room where Sirrah was curled on the sofa.

He sat beside her. She gave a small trilling meow before moving to curl up on his lap. Arthur could feel the fullness of her belly against his thighs. He rested one hand on her back then tilted his head so he could rest it against the back cushions and closed his eyes.

A soft _fwump_ woke Arthur from his light doze. It was followed by purring, deeper than Sirrah’s purr. He opened his eyes to see that the now ball-less Tupac was half in his lap and half on the sofa cushion, nuzzling Sirrah. Sniffing and rubbing his cheek along hers before crawling into the leftover space in Arthur’s lap and settling in to groom her.

“Hey, how did you get in here?” Arthur asked, poking Tupac in the side gently before becoming distracted by the ding of the microwave.

“Dinner’s heated,” Eames said a few moments later, bringing in two plates with the pad thai and the pad kee mao divided among them. He also had two bottles of beer in his fingers. Arthur extracted himself from the two cats and stood to help Eames put the plates on the coffee table, then went to get some utensils.

“We should exchange phone numbers,” Eames said between mouthfuls of pad thai once Arthur handed him a fork. “I want to be here when she has her babies.”

“Mmm,” Arthur hummed, as his mouth was full.

“She and Tupac seem to be getting along,” Eames commented. Tupac was curled around a sleeping Sirrah, purring loudly. “So what made your day such shit that I get to see you in less than a perfectly tailored shirt and trousers?” He waggled his eyebrows for emphasis.

Arthur looked up from his plate for a second. Eames’s expression was honest, as if he really wanted to know. Before Arthur could do anything the words were flowing from him: listing his complaints about how he always tried to be on top of Dom’s ideas, how he always tried to make sure he had permits in place and plans filed with the proper authorities, but Dom had changed his “vision” for the new waterfront building twice in the last week which meant resubmitting everything. Plus he was still only in the bidding stages for the contract in the first place.

He grumbled about how Dom liked to think of himself as the next Frank Gehry and sometimes, in those creative moments, forgot the laws of physics or that the floor plan and foot print of a house doesn’t always fit in the more restrictive square footage of a condo. It had somehow become Arthur’s job to talk Dom out of his more outrageous designs despite not being an architect and having no training for it.

Arthur talked until both his plate and bottle of beer were empty and Eames had moved beside him on the sofa, one warm hand gently squeezing the back of Arthur’s neck.

“Poor Arthur,” Eames said, his fingers scratching up into Arthur’s hair and rubbing at his nape, the motion similar to if he was petting one of the cats. “Surrounded by idiots.”

“You chief among them,” Arthur said with a small smile. Eames smiled crookedly back before taking the used plates into Arthur’s kitchen. Arthur felt bereft when Eames removed his hand. Normally he hated when people touched him, especially if they played with his hair. His great-Aunt Tilda used to all the time when he was a boy, tugging at the way it curled. And none too gently either. While in College he’d been to a number of parties where drunk girls would squeal over it. They were also handsy about it. As an adult the only person he had recently allowed to touch his hair was Mal. But she was gone now. 

Eames felt different, more like the way Mal used to rub at his nape to help sooth him. Stronger though, with rougher fingers. Still it felt … nice.

Shocked a little bit by that thought, and trying to rid his mind of the other times Eames causally touched or hugged him, Arthur quickly followed Eames into the kitchen with the rest of their dinner things. “Leave it, I’ll clean up.” He told Eames.

“It’s time for me to go home anyway. Come on, castrati,” Eames said, going back into the living room to pick up Tupac. “I had him fixed the other day.”

“I noticed.”

“I took him to Proclus. Happened to mention to Doctor Yusuf that my cat was the one that got yours preggo. He said to ask you to phone and make an appointment for about 2 weeks from now so he can give Sirrah one last check before she has her kittens.”

“I’ll do that tomorrow.”

“Now before I go, let’s exchange numbers.” Eames said, fumbling for his phone. They quickly swapped contact details. “Good night, Arthur” Eames said, waving one of Tupac’s paws at him.

“Good night, Mr. Eames” Arthur said, the corner of his mouth twisting up into a smirk when he saw Eames’ over the top scowl.

\---

“She’s about two weeks from being due,” Yusuf said, his hands carefully stroking Sirrah’s fur. “The kittening box, which Ariadne has ready for you, should be placed somewhere warm, quiet, and draft-free. Encourage her to sleep in this box; it will keep her from nesting elsewhere. Put her food and litter tray near the box so she has easy access.” He carefully lifted Sirrah up, taking care to not put additional pressure on her belly, and put her back in her carrier.

“The kittening box can be lined with old newspapers—which can easily be changed—or an old blanket or towel. Make sure that the blanket isn't going to snag the kittens’ claws. This bedding should be changed regularly as well.”

“How do I know when she is going to be ready? I’ve been reading up online a bit,” Arthur said, his eyebrows drawn together in consternation as he locked the carrier door. “But I don’t feel confident.”

“She knows what to do; mostly all you are doing is making her comfortable,” Yusuf said, taking an antiseptic wipe and cleaning the exam table. “I’ve had Ariadne put together an information packet along with a few other things you may need. My personal cell number is in there as well. Call me, any time, if you’re concerned.”

“Great, thanks Yusuf. You’ve been fantastic about this.” Arthur shook his hand.

Yusuf just smiled.

Later that day Arthur had read Ariadne’s information packet cover to cover and collected the necessary things he thought Sirrah might need to be comfortable. He even set up the kittening box with some old, soft towels he had been meaning to throw out. 

He was going through Yusuf’s information for a fifth time when he heard a knock at the door. “It’s open,” he called.

Eames had taken to coming over since that night with the Thai food. He usually brought a few ingredients, then used whatever else was in Arthur’s kitchen to fill in the rest. Arthur was more than happy to let Eames cook. He didn’t mind cooking per se, but he knew when to let someone better at it take over.

“There was some lovely chicken breasts at the market today I couldn’t pass up,” Eames said from the kitchen. “I think I’ll grill them with some lemon-pepper. What’s all this then?” He said leaving the kitchen for the main living room to talk to Arthur. He motioned to the box, set up in a quiet corner near some book shelves but still sunny and warm.

“Yusuf gave it to me. The box is what they call a kittening box; it’s a warm safe area where she’ll have the babies. You should read the papers.” Arthur got up and shuffled the papers together. “It’s all about how cats give birth and when we should intervene. Did you know that it can be up to an hour between the births of the kittens?” Arthur trailed Eames into the kitchen, papers in hand. “If I give you a key, could you come in during the day and check on her? That is, if you aren’t busy.”

“Arthur darling! This is all so sudden, we barely know each other and you’re giving me a key?!”

“Eames,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m kidding, darling, just kidding. Sure, it’s no problem for me to pop in and check on her. I’ll give you a shout if anything is amiss.”

\---

The following week, when Arthur came home one evening it was to a “Hello darling.”

“Something wrong?” Arthur asked, dropping his computer bag by the door and rushing to the living room in haste.

“Nope, but I think she’s about ready to go.” Eames had the various things Yusuf had given Arthur along with some clean towels and some kitten milk Arthur had picked up. “I looked in on her earlier and she was acting strange. So checked the papers Yusuf sent you home with. A couple hours ago she was prowling around and panting, only stopping to lick herself for a bit. I figured I’d better stay put. I would have texted you but I wasn’t sure if you were on your way home or not. Maybe about half an hour ago, she made her way over to the box you set up last week. Every now and then she gives a meow but she’s mostly been purring and panting.”

“Let me get changed. I’ll be right back,” Arthur said, and rushed off to his bedroom.

“Don’t rush, darling, I think she’ll be a while yet.”

\---

Eames was right with that statement. An hour ago he’d said to Arthur, “You watch her while I make dinner.” They’d eaten a hastily re-heated meal and cleaned up. Now they were back to waiting, hands freshly scrubbed in case they had to intervene.

“Do you think we should call Yusuf?” Arthur asked biting his lip. Sirrah had been crouching for 20 minutes now. And every 2 minutes, they watched her push with each contraction.

“I don’t think so, she’s not showing any of the symptoms of something being wrong,” Eames replied, putting his arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “The papers say she could be like this for half an hour.”

Eames arm was a sold weight about Arthur’s shoulders, warm and comforting. Leaning into Eames’s body, Arthur felt some of his anxiety leave with Eames so close. There was something about his presence, the weight of his arm, or the scent of his sandalwood aftershave that helped Arthur calm down.

Still he was worried; he couldn’t help but be worried. Sirrah was all he had, his best friend and trusted confident. Hating this waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting and watching and seeing. Having Eames here beside him makes it better than if he was dealing with this alone. If he was alone he would be a nervous wreck by now. Still though he was anxious for Sirrah.

“But—“ Arthur stopped talking abruptly. He felt his heart beat speed up as a tiny head appeared. He could barely breathe as he watched Sirrah. A few more minutes later she pushed a tiny kitten into the world. “Oh my god, oh my god! Eames! Did you see that?!”

Somewhere in those few minutes he had grabbed Eames’s hand, shaking it a bit as he crushed it with his own. He felt Eames squeeze his hand back, Eames’s grip stronger than his own.

Captivated, he watched as Sirrah moved to lick her tiny kitten, who gave a little gasp and absolutely tiny sounding “mew.”

“I did, Arthur, I absolutely did!” Eames said in amazement. Arthur tore his eyes from the tiny kitten Sirrah was cleaning and looked at Eames. Eames’s face held an expression of absolute awe, joy and love that Arthur was sure mirrored his own. Eames blinked, and then smiled at Arthur, a full smile of pure happiness, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

Arthur smiled back, a great big one that he knew filled his face and caused his dimples, the one’s his Grandma always pinched, to appear. If anything, this caused Eames’s to smile more brightly. He extracted his hand from Arthur’s and hesitated a moment before brushing his thumb over one of Arthur’s dimples. Arthur felt Eames cup his chin with both of his hands. Eames leaned in, then hesitated for a fraction of a second before ducking in the rest of the way and gave Arthur a kiss.

As first kisses go, it wasn’t the best: the angle was wrong, they bumped noses, and their teeth clacked together. It didn’t help that they were both a bit over excited about the brand new baby kitten nearby. But they readjusted how they were sitting and the second attempt was much better. Softer, and smoother. When the kiss broke Arthur leaned his forehead against Eames and rubbed the tips of their noses together.

With one hand, Eames cupped Arthur’s cheek. Eames’s thumb brushing the delicate skin under his eye. Eames’s other hand was resting on Arthur’s nape, fingers curling into his hair. Arthur smiled at the gentle tug of Eames’s fingers, wrapped his arms around Eames’s shoulders, and then tilted his head a bit to kiss Eames’s palm. 

\---

Over the next few hours Sirrah delivered five more kittens. Arthur made a check mark on a piece of paper each time a kitten was born and a subsequent placenta was pushed out.

“Six kittens!” Eames exclaimed, “Well done, pet, well done.” He rubbed a finger between Sirrah’s ears. The six brown-black kittens were all piled together against her belly nursing greedily while Sirrah purred.

“Here,” Arthur said handing Eames a mug of tea. “I’m just glad that’s over without any problems.”

“What do you think we should name them?” Eames asked.

\---

 **8 weeks later**.

“It’s just little Tremello left,” Eames said, after the ruckus that was the Cobb family left Arthur’s apartment. “Poor guy’s not only the smallest of the litter, but now all by himself.” Eames had the kitten in a rugby hold; supporting the little kitten’s body with his forearm while tucking him securely against his side.

Tremello was fast asleep. Having played for the last few hours, he fell over onto his side the moment the Cobb’s left.

“He’s fine,” Arthur replied, picking up the mess that was left behind when Dom came over with Phillipa and James to take their new kitten home. “Actually, I’m thinking we should keep him. What?” Arthur said to Eames incredulous look.

“We? How far you’ve come from the man a few weeks ago who was banging on my door to tell me his cat was pregnant.”

“ _My_ cat was pregnant because of _your_ cat. It was only fair that you take part of the responsibility in all of this. So, I think I’ll need you to hold onto my apartment key for the next little while. Just to check up on Trem. Make sure he’s alright when I’m away at work.” Arthur said, ignoring the fact that the tips of his ears were pink with an embarrassed blush.

“Is that so?” Eames said putting Tremello down on the cat bed before stepping forward, into Arthur’s personal space, and slipping his hands into the back pockets of Arthur’s jeans in order to tug him closer.

“Cheaper than child support,” Arthur said with a smile.

“With a lot of additional benefits,” said Eames, before leaning in for a kiss.


End file.
